


Twenty-Nine

by MillieMay



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: No ships only family angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillieMay/pseuds/MillieMay
Summary: The news hit nationwide last night, “The Surgeon’s Six Undiscovered Victims”, a press release that took her world, yet again, by storm. Every moment she finds peace she’s thrown into the vortex by no other than her ex-husband.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Twenty-Nine

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite a departure from what I usually write but I love this family so much that I had to do a little hurt/comfort fic. That and this idea of a survivor’s guilt when it comes to those around serial killers is golden angst material and it was just begging to be written. Hope y’all enjoy

In retrospect of everything that’s happened, Jessica believes she’s kept herself impressively together. She has handled the paparazzi clamoring at every door she’s behind, the concerned looks from her friends, and the judgemental looks from her social circle.

The news hit nationwide last night, _“The Surgeon’s Six Undiscovered Victims”_ , a press release that took her world, yet again, by storm. Every moment she finds peace she’s thrown into the vortex by no other than her ex-husband. Of course he had to reveal in a live interview that he had six lost victims, of course it had to bragging at the police that they never knew, of course it would send Malcolm into a guilt ridden spiral until he knew every single name.

All of this for an unsubstantiated claim of a clinical narcissist who fell out of the limelight when all of Nicholas Endicott’s shady business came uncovered. God forbid the Whitly’s not be in a headline for a while.

However, she’s kept herself busy. She dodges the questions with ease, laughing them off as what they were, bullshit. Rather she throws herself into her most recent charity project, absolutely determined to have an event go off without a hitch. Her work has kept her busy enough to have an excuse not to watch the news and if she didn’t have that she would check up on Gil and make sure he wasn’t throwing himself into work too soon.

“Mother!” She jumps at Malcolm’s voice glancing up from her papers. He stands by Ainsley in the doorway, both looking worriedly at her.

“Sorry. I was a little focused.” She gets up from her spot at the table hugging Ainsley first, then Malcolm. “You both look exhausted, Edith get us some coffee would you?” While the statement is mostly true, it’s a rather selfish request. Sleep has been creeping in on her for the past half hour but there’s too much to do before next weekend.

“I’m good, thanks.” Ainsley’s smile is forced. Her eyebrows furrow together studying her daughter’s face for a moment. Her smile, even the fake one, normally comes with such practiced ease that it’s hard to spot when she’s faking it for appearances. This is cardboard though, one that’s too exhausted to sell the image.

“We didn’t come for coffee.” Malcolm frowns, she nods to Edith dismissing her. The woman leaves allowing them to have their talk in private.

“Don’t tell me you came to talk about the news. You know your father is a clinical narcissist and with Endicott’s empire crumbling he’s not in the one anyone is talking about. He’s desperate. We just need to-”

“We found the six bodies.” He cuts her off stopping her in her tracks. “I visited Dad and he told me where they were buried. I went with Dani and JT. What he said is true.” The information feels like a punch to the chest.

“We don’t know that it was him,” she tries desperately at denial yet again. “He could have mentored another serial killer for all we know.”

“He gave us enough detail to ID all the women and how they died.” She runs her hands through her hair desperate for something to hold onto. “We wanted you to hear it from us first.”

“No doubt it will be on the news before the end of the night.” Ainsley adds bitterly. She notices the angry look exchanged between the two, with her ambition she has little doubt that Ainsley wanted to be the one to break the story but it was Malcolm who insisted they talk first. She’ll never fault her daughter for her ambition though, it truly is her best quality.

The two rock on their feet. Years of practice as a mother has taught her one thing and that it’s never a good thing. They’re holding something back, trying to will the other to talk about it first. Normally it would be about a priceless vase they broke in their careless playing or sneaking out past their curfews. God she misses when it was that simple. “What?”

“Ains,” Malcolm swallows heavily, it’s a nickname he only uses under a vulnerable state. She braces herself as Ainsley pulls a manilla folder out of her purse and hands it to her.

“What’s this?” Neither answer, rather their eyes look anywhere but at her both trying their best to stay put together.

“We wanted you to know before you saw it on TV.” She opens the folder finding the face of a much younger woman smiling back at her. The photo is faded and yellowed but her features were indistinguishable. Wavy brown hair spills over her shoulders, blue eyes sparkling back at the camera. Even her posture gave away everything she needed to know. The woman looks like her.

“Who is this?” The emotion thick in her voice nearly shatters everything she’s kept so tightly together in the past few months. She’ll be damned if she lets it go now.

Ainsley straightens, taking a breath and in her best reporter tone lays out the details, “Her name is… was Erica Watson. She went missing the summer of 1985.”

“The year I met your father.” She slumps against the table, exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. “She was meant to be a stand in for me, wasn’t she?”

Neither answer but that’s enough to confirm her worst suspicions. For years she’d had those lingering thoughts in the back of her head. That he’d never killed her. That for whatever fucking reason that in his twisted mind she was special. Clearly special enough to kill a supplement of her. 

Disgust fills her mouth, a bitter laugh creeping out untethered from her control. “Fuck.” The questions will become unrelenting. She turns her back not wanting either of them to see the tears building up in her eyes. She hears Ainsley sniff and she feels horribly. How must they feel, finding out that their father wanted to kill their mother? But with the hot tears rolling down her cheeks out of her control she can’t bring herself to turn back to them. She wants Gil, he’d know what to do, he’d know what to say in all of this madness but he’s confined to a damn hospital bed.

She throws her glass at the wall in a last fit of anger before the sobs take over. She weeps for the poor girl who died because of her. For the family who went thirty-five years without knowing what had happened to their daughter. God she couldn’t have been more than twenty-three.

She feels the impact of a body hitting her in the back, arms wrapping almost hesitant around her middle. Ainsley’s hair tickles her arms as she presses her forehead against the back of her shoulders. She pushes the arms away and she can feel the disappointment radiating from her daughter. Instead she turns, quickly pulling her back into a tight embrace. She strokes the blonde hair back as she looks over her shoulder at Malcolm. He stands so tightly wound, as if a single move will break everything. Yet his eyes always give away all, he’s just so scared.

She reaches out an arm to him and he crashes into the hug all the same, his arms wrapping easily around the both of them. Holding them to her makes it easier to breathe, the past doesn’t matter so long as they’re safe and close to her. She will make plans to contact the families of the six killed, she’ll pay for funerals and burials all the same. They deserve that closure, after all.

But for now she’s content in holding her own family close, as they hold the broken pieces of her together.


End file.
